James Moody is a diminutive giant who looks like a sepia leprechaun. So I take it as no coincidence that he quoted “The Irish Washerwoman” at the climax of his 1956 solo on “Breakin’ the Blues” or that, though he was born at the end of February (in 1925), he always celebrates his birthday around St. Patrick’s Day. Mr. Moody recorded his 70th-birthday celebration album, “Moody’s Party,” at the Blue Note in March 1995; was given a gala concert by Jazz at Lincoln Center in honor of his 75th in March 2000; and this year is again celebrating a milestone birthday, his 80th, at the Blue Note.

Mr. Moody has the same problem being accepted as an elder statesman as Clark Terry, who turns 85 at the end of this year: Both are such irrepressible funsters, part of the venerated tradition of great clowns who are also top-drawer jazz soloists, following in the footsteps of Louis Armstrong, Fats Waller, and Mr. Moody’s longtime mentor, Dizzy Gillespie. Mr. Moody is just as likely to come out and sing “Benny’s From Heaven” as Mr. Terry is to do his famous “Mumbles” routine.

Mr. Moody’s comedic skills have also kept pace with his playing and other aspects of his art – now he not only sings and tells jokes, he also yodels and raps. That Mr. Moody is one of the funniest men alive can be verified by the unfortunate lady who resembles heavyweight Joe Frasier and who seemingly attends every one of Mr. Moody’s performances. That he is one of the most brilliant of all improvisers is borne out by his still-venerated “I’m in the Mood for Love.”

Of all the greatest recorded solos in jazz, this one cut deeper into the pop consciousness than any other – even more than Illinois Jacquet’s “Flying Home” or Phil Woods’s statement on the hit “New York State of Mind.” Recorded in 1949, Mr. Moody’s solo on Jimmy McHugh’s melody was a sterling example of double-timing, using bebop tricks while sustaining a romantic mood. The solo become an R & B hit when vocalist King Pleasure sang words to it, yet the lyrics were far from brilliant and the singer himself had nothing like staying power.

Other modern jazz compositions have become famous beyond the confines of the hardcore jazz audience – Gillespie’s “Night in Tunisia,” Benny Golson’s “Killer Joe.” “Moody’s Mood for Love,” as it is sometimes called, was not a composition; it was purely an improvisation. Yet it has lingered in the public consciousness not because of King Pleasure, but because of the solo itself. Although nothing like an anthem, it has become one – a banner of modern jazz and African-American culture (recorded in Stockholm with an all-Swedish backup band) waved by such diverse icons as Bill Cosby and Queen Latifah.

Mr. Moody has had some success as a composer, such as “Last Train From Overbrook,” which the Lincoln Center Orchestra should have played in their recent retrospective of jazz locomotion (they played it with Mr. Moody in 2000). Unlike many of his contemporaries, however, Mr. Moody rarely tried to establish himself as one. Rather, he carved out his niche as an improviser and multi-instrumentalist.

Mr. Moody is probably more multi than any of his modern era colleagues. When he first rose to prominence with the various Gillespie groups, he was automatically a double threat on alto and tenor saxophones, and later mastered soprano and flute. He was also a visionary bandleader and conceptualist. Following the success of “Mood for Love,” he put together the first of many notable ensembles he has fronted both in the road and in the studio.

This was a remarkable septet (sometimes an octet) – with four or five horns and three rhythm, which combined the flexibility of a combo with the wallop and pop appeal of an orchestra. By now, Mr. Moody was combining as many genres as he was horns. The 1950s group (which recorded for Mercury, Prestige, and Argo – an obvious subject for a box set – get on it, Mosaic!) dwelt equally in the worlds of swing, bebop, and rhythm and blues. In a sense the Moody and Illinois Jacquet little big bands were the connecting point between Louis Jordan and Ray Charles.

The 1958 album “Last Train From Overbrook,” produced by Dave Usher, was recorded to commemorate his release from a famous mental institution in New Jersey, which he voluntarily entered to cleanse himself of his addiction to alcohol. Mr. Moody gained still more new strength when he followed ex-boss and friend Gillespie into the B’hai faith, a religion to which he and his current wife, Lynda, are still devoted.

Even as the jazz scene was changing in the 1960s, he continued to challenge himself in settings both old and new. In the late 1960s he reunited with Gillespie for a memorable series of quintet and orchestral albums, now no longer a sideman but a full-fledged co-star. He worked with the talented composer and arranger Tom McIntosh on several projects, including “Moody and the Brass Figures,” one of his best efforts of the 1960s, in which his tenor solos are backed by a five-piece, all-star brass choir. There also was “Tower of Power,” a 1970 meeting – battle is more like it – with Dexter Gordon, in which Mr. Moody more than holds his own against that most formidable of tenor gladiators.

James Moody left the jazz world for most of the 1970s, though he continued to work as a musician. He served as a player in the house bands of Las Vegas, not just for the stability and regular paycheck, but for the chance to stay in one place and be with his young daughter as she was growing up. He only resumed his rightful status as jazz colossus in the mid-1980s.

What’s remarkable is that, even if you were to measure him only by the recordings he has made since he turned 60 in 1985, he still stacks up as one of the greatest of all players. Whenever a major label decides that jazz is hip again, thankfully, Mr. Moody is generally the first guy they call – witness his fine series of albums for RCA (“Moving Forward” reteamed him with composer-arranger Tom McIntosh) in the late 1980s.

A decade after that, Mr. Moody made an even more rarified series for Warner Bros., including two songbook driven projects, done in honor of pop icons Frank Sinatra and Henry Mancini. A jam session with emerging saxophone star Mark Turner that showed that, for all the sweetness of his disposition, he is still a fearsome combatant. His latest release, “Homage,” on Savoy Jazz, is as current and cutting-edge as anything being produced by musicians one-quarter his age.

No other musician, both live and on recordings, has given me as much pleasure as James Moody. Along with the late Rahsaan Roland Kirk, Mr. Moody was one of the first jazzmen I ever saw live, when he played the Children’s Museum near where I lived in Bedford Stuyvesant 30 years ago. He had a way of making even a 10-year-old love jazz, and I still remember some of the jokes he told, including his explanation of why fire engines are red – because they’re always “rushin’,” of course.